Nothing
by OfficerKennedy
Summary: Leon never considered being alone to be the biggest threat of all. CHARACTER DEATH.


Notes:- Hi there! This is something that seemed to come out of nowhere! I was thinking about the couple of stories that I'd written featuring Leon dying so I thought I'd go for something a bit different and see what would happen if it was Chris who died. For some reason I seem to like writing about death! Anyway, enjoy!

Nothing

Leon Kennedy had been a lot of things in his life but the one thing he'd never really been was alone. Sure he'd been lonely sometimes but he'd never been truly alone. He'd always had people to share his life with. His family, his friends, the people he worked with. He'd faced off against countless monsters and the evil creations of power hungry men that threatened the world but he'd never considered being alone as being the biggest threat of them all.

His black dress shoes shuffle across the maroon carpet as he enters the Chapel of Rest. He doesn't know why he dressed up like this, wearing his best shoes and his most expensive suit. It seems wrong somehow. It definitely wouldn't please Chris who loved to keep things casual. He sighs heavily, thinking back to the couple that he'd just seen across the street. They were coming out of the ice cream parlour opposite. She had a cone and was offered him a taste and they were laughing, uproariously. For some reason Leon wanted to go over there and slap them. How dare they be so woefully ignorant of the circumstances?

He had plenty of people around him. Plenty of friends and family who understood, or at least pretended to understand the grevious loss. The spoke to him and tried to reassure him with words that were supposed to make him feel better, give him comfort but in essence they were just words. A long, drawn-out monotone death rattle, repeating over and over again.

Death. And there it was. That word. The word that not one single person had dared say to him since the hospital. But what exactly was death? What exactly did being dead mean?

Certainly Chris Redfield was dead. His body lay there in its mahogany coffin, devoid of breath or beating heart muscle. He was no longer moving. Silenced forever. His chocolate brown eyes were locked away forever by those heavy lids, sealed over the glassy orbs that he'd always loved to lose himself in. And those arms, those strong arms that used to hold him so tight, now folded neatly over his chest as he slept on. Leon could almost feel his own heart stop as he saw for the first time his lover's body in its final position. Waiting to be sent deep down into the ground.

But surely not? Surely he wasn't really dead? He was Chris Redfield for God's sake! The strong bison of the BSAA. Survivor of the Spencer Mansion! Surely those lids would open, those eyes would light up and that voice, that heavenly voice would speak again?

Bare-faced delusion seemed to be Leon's only friend in the face of this unimaginable adversity.

He heard a sharp intake of breath and for one glorious moment believed that it had come from his lover's pale lips. It was only when he looked to his left did he see his sister standing there, a bunch of white lilies in her arms. Her blue eyes shone with unshed tears. They'd barely spoken since she'd left the hospital in the arms of her husband. Her soft cheeks were red and stained with tears. She looked tragic yet elegant, a true dignified mourner. Nothing like the screams and the snot and the tears that made up most of his nights. He nodded at her and took his rightful place beside Chris' coffin.

It seemed like an age had passed before she finally spoke to him, her misery and grief tainting every single one of her words, spreading to each sad syllable like a disease. He wondered briefly if she would ever sound the same again.

"Where were you"? She asked so quietly he needed a moment to work out what it was that she'd said. It wasn't an accusation but more of a heartbroken plea.

"He wanted to deal with it alone. I-"

"You were supposed to be with him" Again, a statement, not an accusation. "You joined the BSAA to be with him. He always thought that if he was ever in any trouble, you would be there"

Leon swallowed hard, feeling the first stirrings of rage. He knew that. He knew that he should've been there. He was Chris' partner. And he'd failed.

"I'm sorry" He gently brushes his calloused fingers over Chris' stubbled cheek as he speaks. He's not sure who's speaking to when he says that. Is it Claire? Strong, brave Claire who has every right to question his failure because, after all, it caused the death of her final family member. Or is it Chris? His love who had put so much faith in him only to be let down when it had really mattered the most.

He doesn't stay. He doesn't want to be there when the coffin is finally sealed. He goes outside and gets into the black car that will take him to the church where he will be forced to say his final goodbye. Be forced to admit that yes, Chris Redfield is dead.

It isn't until later when he's back at his apartment and there's a rapping at his front door does he realise how quickly the time since the funeral has passed. Unable to cling on to his delusion that his lover would come back to him, he's shut down. He doesn't think and he doesn't feel and he knows he must look a sight because when he answers the door and lets Barry Burton into the apartment, the first thing the older man does is pull him into a tight hug.

It feels strange to be in another man's arms even if its just for the purposes of trying to make him feel better. Barry is the closest link he has to Chris. He was Chris' best friend. Had been for years.

"Leon" He mutters, holding onto him. "I know how hard this is…please, if there's anything at all…"

"No" He replies, he knows his voice sounds as hollow as his heart. Barry nods and releases him. The older man isn't convinced. Not in the slightest bit. But he knows better than to push it. He's biting his bottom lip, tugging at his beard, fiddling with the strap of the laptop bag he has slung over one shoulder.

"Leon" He swallows hard. "I know this maybe isn't the time-" He stops, sighs, tries again. "I know you wanted-" Another stop. He's trying his best. Trying to deliver the hammer blow he knows is coming as gently as possible. "We've found something new. Something about his death"

"Let me see"

Barry nods and makes his way over to the sofa, opening his bag and setting up the small laptop on the coffee table. He says nothing of the fact that Leon is wearing Chris' favourite hooded top even though it must be strikingly obvious, the way it hangs off his smaller frame. He says nothing about the full ashtray on the coffee table, even though he knows Leon gave up smoking years ago. If he has anything to say about the way Leon's falling apart he doesn't let on. He sits there, tapping at the keys and waiting patiently for something to load up.

Leon holds the thick material of the hooded top closer to himself as he sits down next to the older man. The movement releases another hint of Chris' aftershave from the material. He closes his eyes, dreams for a second and comes back to reality just in time to see that it's some sort of footage he's waiting on.

"CCTV"? He asks quietly. Barry nods, tugs at his beard once more. Barry doesn't think this is a good idea. But he knows better than to argue. When the BSAA had first begun their investigation into the loss of one of their own, Leon had made it perfectly clear in no uncertain terms that he was to stay in loop. Every report, every file, everything they uncovered was to be given to him so he could read for himself what had happened.

"As you know the death was caused by a gunshot" Barry explains. He grabs the bottle of whisky that's been left beside the sofa and the empty glass next to it. He pours some out, drains it and continues to speak. Leon doesn't begrudge the drink. He knows how hard this must be for the older man. "But we've finally found an explanation for the other marks that were found on the- on his – body"

He clicks a button on the laptop and then the torture began. The screen lights up and is filled with an image of Chris, of his Chris, doubled over in the antechamber of some dirty ruin in the middle of Kijuju. Leon studied the image, noting the blood that dripped from his broken nose, the welts and bruises that flowered his exposed flesh. He's shaking on the cold stone as he kneels there, naked, with thick rope binding his wrists together.

Leon began to shake in despair and he saw the black clad figure walk into the shot. A thick chain was wrapped around his forearm. He unravelled it slowly, teasingly, a warning of what was to come. Tears start to course down Leon's cheeks as he watches the man bring the chain down hard on his lover's flesh. He'd known from the medical report he'd demanded to read that Chris had been subjected to some sort of torture but he'd had no idea that it had been this brutal, this animalistic. The sadistic creature continues to bring the chain down, again and again, harder and harder until Chris can only whimper in pain.

"Bastard-" The word comes out of his mouth before he can even stop it. He knows that Wesker was brought down by Jill shortly after he'd murdered Chris but it wasn't enough. He clung to a bitter resentment that it wasn't him that had killed the S.T.A.R.S traitor.

Barry moves to turn the laptop off but a voice suddenly filters from the footage causing Leon to grab the older man's wrist tightly to stop him severing the sound.

"Leon…" A weak plea. Sounding nothing like his strong lover. That alone is enough to break what's left of Leon's heart. "Leon…baby…I'm sorry…I love-"

But Chris was never given the chance. Wesker pulls out a magnum and sinks a bullet straight into his brain before he finishes speaking. Leon closes his eyes as he hears the final slump of Chris' lifeless body hit the stone floor. He doesn't need to tell Barry that he's seen enough. Barry closes the laptop and places it silently back into his bag. Leon slumps on the sofa feeling utterly drained. He doesn't want to see, he doesn't want to hear, he doesn't want to think. He doesn't argue when Barry lifts his legs to lay him on the sofa and covers him with a blanket. A big, strong hand settles on his shoulder.

"Sleep Leon" He says gently. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here when you wake up"

Dreams weren't something that Chris had seemed all that familiar with. Despite what he'd been through he'd always been a heavy sleeper, his sleep restful and calm.

Leon however, couldn't remember a time when he didn't dream. When he wasn't plagued by terrible nightmares of the events of Raccoon City and beyond. Monsters and mysterious women haunted his dreams, dancing in and out of shadows and causing him to wake up, sometimes yelling, sometimes swearing and always shaken. Within seconds he'd feel an arm wind around his waist pulling him back down onto a broad chest, holding him there whilst a warm, steady hand gently stroked his sweat covered back.

"You had a nightmare again didn't you"?

"_Yeah" Leon replied, swallowing hard because his mouth was suddenly so dry. He hated this. Hated feeling so weak. Hated waking up his lover because he couldn't lay to rest something that had happened years ago. _

"_I know what you're thinking Leon. You're not weak. It's only natural after what you went through" Chris kissed the top of his head and held him tighter. "It'll get better in its own time"_

"_But-" _

"_I dealt with it another way" Chris said firmly, knowing exactly what his lover was going to say. Yeah, he hadn't had nightmares but his drinking had certainly taken a turn for the worse after the mansion incident. It had taken months for him to learn again that the answer to his problems didn't lie at the bottom of a whisky bottle. "And trust me. I'd much rather have you wake me up in the middle of the night than find you in a drunken stupor every night" He pulled the blanket tighter around them both. "Now let's get back to sleep" He added, settling the argument. He gave Leon another kiss. "You're not going to have any more of those nightmares tonight baby" _

_And Leon didn't. _

Yet here, laid out on the battered sofa that they'd shared, the nightmares were plaguing him all over again. Gone were the images of evil beasts and blood soaked corridors. They were replaced by taunting images of the torture Chris had been made to suffer at the hands of his former Captain. He saw over and over again, the final shot that killed him, the high power of the magnum tearing his body and stopping his heart. It had been so easy to pretend that none of it was real, that none of it had actually happened until sleep when the harsh reality of his lovers' fate attacked him.

He sat up on the sofa, trembling and shivering, tears once again making their way down his cheeks. He wiped them on the back of his hand harshly and settled back down. He knew that sleep wasn't going to come back so easily. Barry was sitting in the armchair, snoring gently, a car magazine open across his chest. Despite the pain needling his heart, Leon smiled slightly. Barry was doing his best to look after him and for that he would always be grateful.

He slipped out of the apartment, careful not to wake his guest. He was still wearing Chris oversized hooded top but had put on a pair of his own jeans and trainers. He climbed into the Jeep they'd shared and he drove slowly and carefully until he reached the vast lake where they'd first confessed their feelings to each other.

Chris had loved the lake. Said it reminded him of the fishing trips his father, and then later Barry, had taken him on. It had never really been something that Leon had been bothered about but now, in the middle of the dark night, he could see why Chris loved it. The light from the full moon tumbled over the still water, making it look like smoky glass. He always liked to skim stones whenever they came up here but tonight, the calm surface of the water seemed soothing somehow. He parked the Jeep and strolled down to the water's edge, sitting down on the cold grass, damp from the dew that glittered on each delicate blade.

He stayed there until the sun came up and a brand new day began. The dewy grass had been his pillow, the starry night sky his blanket. He'd sat and he'd thought and he'd talked. He'd talked in his head and then out loud, talked to Chris until he'd cried and then he'd cried until he'd had nothing left to say. He'd given up waiting for an answer from his lover who, if the world was to be believed, was up there somewhere, looking down on him. No. Chris was dead. There had been nothing there but the still water and the cold night. Nothing there but a huge, wide world that held nothing left for him anymore.


End file.
